


Bros Before Hoes

by Burntfalls



Category: Marvel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24036250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burntfalls/pseuds/Burntfalls
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Bros Before Hoes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CircleUp](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CircleUp/gifts).



He’s not jealous, you’re jealous.

Okay fine, he’s jealous.

They used to be thick as thieves.

SHIELD basic is no joke and the bonds you made there were ones that were For Life. At least that’s what Troy had thought. They had secret tattoos (well Phil’s was secret, his he’d shown to probably twenty people by now and not always on purpose) to commemorate their graduation. They’d shared beers while staring at fancy cars (okay, Troy had stared wow that paint is really shiny and new but he knew Phil was assessing the power of the engine and the sleek design of aerodynamics blah blah blah.)

And here came this cocky little shit. No, not even cocky, just NEEDY. He’d been through a dozen handlers in the years he’d been with SHIELD and forget the fact that Troy didn’t honestly understand why they kept him around, they HAD plenty of snipers, right? Okay forget the fact that snipers were basically a dime a dozen, what was so special about this one?

He was weedy and, yeah, he’d been in the circus (big whoop, have you HEARD some of the backstories of SHIELD’s field agents?) and he had a cute face but it was clear to literally everyone in the building and probably for a two block radius outside of it that he was terribly depressed and had some serious daddy issues.

How was that Phil’s type? Phil was a badass who shouldn’t be bending himself in half to take care of this needy little shit who didn’t even deserve the insignia on his jacket. Troy and Phil had been through hell and back together and here came Little Mr Blond Robinhood to give Phil a boyish little smile and a deferential nod and-- what?

Troy was chopped liver.

Was it so much to ask for a guy to want to hang out? To share a beer? To hang out?

Jesus it wasn’t like they were married.

Or maybe they were. Troy didn’t want to be That Guy but he was side-eyeing this shit so hard that he had to pause and do a little bit of introspection. Like why did he care so much? Yeah it was sort of weird that he was pretty sure one of them was blowing the other (it better be this bitch with the bow and arrow on his knees he’s just saying) because those were some pretty dangerous lines to cross but it wasn’t really the Professional Part that he had issue with.

He just missed his friend. Phil had to run off and console his little twinkie at the drop of the hat and how much goddamn aftercare did this guy need, seriously? Hey, Troy was all for benefitting your partner through time and attention but didn’t a guy need his own Big Boy Time?

“Join me for a beer after work big boy.” Troy slid by Phil’s office with his sunglasses already on.

“Not tonight, sorry Chambers.” Phil only spared Troy a brief glance, frowning at his screen.

“Oh c’mon, you’re not that old yet, Philly, don’t tell me you’re retiring to the drawing room to knit and have tea--”

“Troy.” Phill looked up at him with a tired but flat look, “Just-- not tonight.”

Troy sighed and waved his hand, “Alright catch you in the morning.”

He went to the bar alone and, yeah, he had fun but it felt a bit hollow, his mind on that look that Phil had given him. Tired, exhausted even, and not in the typical way that agents who stayed awake for hours on end during stings or writing reports or dealing with field missions gone awry. It was an emotional exhaustion.

He might have been jealous and he might feel like he was losing his best friend to the boyish wiles of a disaster-of-a-human-being-sniper but Troy could look outside of himself.

\--

“So you know I love you, man.” Troy set down a plate that held a perfectly cut slice of lemon meringue pie on Coulson’s desk.

Phil looked up from his computer and then slowly closed it as he eyed the pie hungrily, “I’m aware.” he agreed, dry as ever.

“Cool, I’m glad, so you should talk to me.” Troy closed the door, “And since I can’t drag you away from your little side-piece--” he ignored the irritated look Phil gave him over that, “Then I have to trap you here with sugar instead. Aunt Deb’s, by the way, she’s a saint with a rack like-- woah.”

“Troy.” Phil’s tone was as close to exasperated as he ever got but he DID reach for the pie which Troy considered a big win.

“Phil.” Troy mimicked back, “Something’s up. I’ve known you long enough to know that crease on your pretty little brow doesn’t belong there. C’mon. Tell your buddy your sorrows. I’m HERE for you.”

“I haven’t got any sorrows.” he tasted the pie and Troy knew it was a winner by the blissful flicker of the other man’s eyes.

Troy smiled, smug, but his expression softened, “C’mon man. Last time you looked this-- out of it your sister was going into rehab.”

Phil sobered a bit, poking the lemon with the fork tongs- not putting it in his mouth which was the first sign that something was ACTUALLY wrong.

It took him a moment before he admitted, “I really care for him.”

“Barton.” Troy said a bit flatly.

“Yes.” Phil admitted it and that seemed to take a load off of his shoulders in and of itself.

“So what’re you going to do about it?” Troy asked, even though he already had a good idea what he was DOING about it. He couldn’t help the edge in his tone. The bitterness. 

What you’re going to do about it is run off into the sunset and we’ll never have brewskies on friday night and shoot the shit. That’s what you’re gonna do about it.

“I don’t know.” Phil confessed, his tone quiet.

It took the wind out of Troy’s sails to see his friend like this, “Look, man, you’re a goddamn saint and I sure as shit don’t know what you see in this guy but-- damn you’ve got it bad.”

Phil’s expression was just searching, he didn’t even reprimand Troy’s casual tone.

“You’re clearly smitten.” Troy huffed, “And-- fuck man, I barely see you anymore you’re always, whatever, cuddling his stupid needy ass--”

“He’s not-- needy.” Phil said defensively, but the way he worded it seemed to convey that Barton was Something Pretty Close to That But Maybe Use a Less Damning Synonym Please.

“Right, whatever, he’s high maintenance anyway.” Troy said, not even bothering to reign in the bitterness on that one, “Dude you still have to have a bit of self-care going on. How are you going to handle this--” he forced himself to steer away from the colourful palette of names he’d come up with for Barton over the last couple months, “GUY’s needs if you’re not even taking care of yourself?”

“What’re you suggesting?” Phil finally took another bite.

“Some goddamn beers, man. My guy. I’ll even watch that dumb car-show shit with you. I swear to god I’m dying with all these fuckface losers trying to get in on this sweet Best Friends Forever material.” Troy gestured to all of himself with a bounce of his brows, “I need your dry wit. It’s like a reverse desert over here- I’m soggy with sogginess and I need your dryness--”

“Alright.” Phil held up a hand, a twitch at the corner of his mouth that used to precede a smile, before he’d gotten a bug named Clint Barton up his ass. Or more likely gotten up Clint’s ass, but hey who was Troy to say?

“Yeah?” he brightened.

“One beer. Tomorrow.”

It was a start at least, “And-- I’ll-- put Barton back on the donut list.”

“You took him off of it?”

“Listen. He was stealing my best friend. Allow me some small petty measure of revenge.” Troy held up his hands innocently.

“You are an ass.” Phil told him in that utterly professional tone that made most people freeze in their tracks- not sure if he was joking or not.

Troy just laughed, “Yeah man but I’m YOUR ass. Not like that, though, that job belongs to someone else okay thanks-- and that stays Very Classified by the way. I don’t want to have any ass-talk over our brewskies.”

“Troy.”

“Not even a little bit! I don’t want to hear about any kinks, either.” Troy got the door.

“Troy.”

“What? Phil? Brother from another mother?” he swung off the door handle, half horizontal in his dramatics.

“Thanks.”

Troy straightened, his smile warm and fond, “Anytime, Phil.”


End file.
